Is A Second Moment of Happiness Too Much To Ask!
by soymaid
Summary: Set after Not Fade Away,combining my two shorter fics and adding a lot of context. Spike finally gets a life, and Angel gets a clue. Okay, so I'm too impatient to properly wrap up my Angel plotline... at least he's in character. SpikeCookie!Buffy, Fangel.
1. A Rude Awakening redux

Bloody fucking shit-piss mother…

Spike lifted his head.

Why had the alley gone all bright and wispy?

"Demon!"

Shit cunt bastard. He hurt all over, and he was pissed as hell at whoever kept yelling at him. "Yeah?"

"Demon!" it was that voice doing it. It boomed right through him. Christ… he sat up and took a look around. Everything was extremely cloudy. Not like blurry… like, clouds. Shiny, sparkly clouds. Spike put fingers on the bridge of his nose, noticing as he did that he'd gone all bumpy. Where was everyone, Angel, Illyria, Gunn?

This thought woke him up like an arrow to the chest. The apocalypse! Had they gotten out all right? It had certainly looked like the others were going to, surprise surprise. He'd stayed with them, ever the stupid ass. Didn't leave even at the big finish, when he'd realized he was going to…

Bloody pricking hellspawn-cock. He'd died, hadn't he?

"Stand, demon!"

Who the hell was that, ordering him around like fuckin' God almighty?

Oh!

Oh.

Spike warily stood. He scanned his surroundings. Couldn't see anyone else. No… not see, but Spike could feel Him. Her. It. There was a presence, calming, benevolent, loving. It was making Spike all jumpy.

"You have violated the prophecy of all time. You have defiled a sacred text with your Lucifer's blood."

Bloody hell. He was always doing something wrong, wasn't he? Spike's mind began filling with loving visions of himself and a cigarette, holding hands, running down the beach together. Cigarette, cigarette… God is here and he's royally pissed… please, please Christ send me a cigarette…

"You are unfit to bear the penalty divinely foretold. You cheated that through agents of darkness; brought back from hellfire through black means. You have not borne your soul through suffering, nor through pain won redemption. You hold it instead a prize."

Spike made himself concentrate on the words. Right, no suffering… what a weird way to go. To get the Big Guy all cranky because he hadn't sweated enough, (well, yeah, and the whole evil-lawyer thing, but that was hardly his own doing) when here he'd just stopped the bad guys and (once again) saved the world…

Suddenly, Spike lost his ability to think logically. An incredible joy suffused his being. Better than Buffy. Better than sex. Better than sex with Buffy!... maybe. He'd saved the world. He'd… he noticed he was going to cry. Swearing again, he tried to wipe his eyes. He started laughing, somehow, without stopping crying. He, Spike! Spike was now the people's champion, and all that rot? Spike, angsty, petty I'm-a-creature-of-the-night, I'm-not-worthy-of-love Spike. He grinned, but his mouth twisted into a sob, another wave of emotion rapidly beginning to overwhelm him. She'd told him all right. The silly, drama-queen slayer… and it was all out of pity. That thought, on the edge of his mind for a year, finally thrust its way into his conscious, releasing unbearable pain—

"Be still!" All at once, Spike calmed down. "I see your soul in you. My examination is complete; you will not feel passion again until I have finished. I have determined what actions you must take as penance."

Was this God fellow responsible for that lightning-tour of his emotions? "Do I get a say in this?" Spike's voice came out rather more quietly and timidly than it usually did. He cleared his throat, looking around somewhat nervously. He sensed rather than heard the deity's amusement. No, of course he didn't. Dumb question.

"You will suffer the penalty yet."

"Thank heavens, that was really starting to worry me," he muttered. He suddenly felt a painful pressure on his chest, making inhalation impossible. This was discipline? Like being in a bloody Catholic school, it was.

"Despite the errors you have caused, your being has known the necessary suffering – soulless though it was." There was their weird feeling again, like he was being mocked. "Soon enough your reward shall be lived out, and all things will once again be in balance. Until then, go…" Spike could swear he felt a sigh of resignation. "Go where you may do the least harm."

The voice sank into his body and left a thrumming. His sight blurred until there was only brightness, then till all he could feel was the beating in his blood.


	2. Deja Vu

"AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH!" was the first sound he heard. Who was screaming? Oh, right. He was.

Bright bright everything was bright. And there was yellow and green and… where the hell was he?

He blinked a few times. Aha! There were shapes now, enclosed forms, not just masses of color. There were column-shaped polygons, and people-shaped polygons… and look, an Angel-shaped polygon.

Angel, looking down at a prone Spike, brows furrowed in confusion, but truly not as much as the situation really deserved.

Angel blinked, stony-faced. "Are you going to be making a habit of this?"

He tried to sit up all at once. Very unwise. Swearing, by contrast, was a very good idea. Yes… this theory stood up well under trial.

"I'm…" his throat was scratchy. Must've been the screaming. "I'm back, am I?"

Angel only looked exasperated. "Again. I'm beginning to think you'll never leave." Something implicit in this jogged his memory.

"Nah." Spike shook his head blearily, disoriented but sure of at least one thing. "I will this time. Really." His eyes widened as this dawned on him, and he pressed his palm to his chest. "I—I got that—!" Wide-eyed and openmouthed, he looked back up at Angel, and felt an unwelcome surge of sympathy. This calmed him down. He winced slightly, somewhat at a loss. "Uh… sorry, mate."

A slight bitter smile was all Angel indulged. "Relax. I knew it wasn't going to be me. The Circle knew about the prophecy, and they made me…" he swallowed. "Well, we'll just say I knew."

Spike looked sympathetic but desperately uncomfortable. Angel frowned at him again.

"Oh, go outside." Angel said sourly, trying to sound good-natured. Spike looked out of the lobby (why were they in a hotel? Bizarre) into sunlight, and with another self-conscious glance at Angel, scrambled to obey.

Angel turned around to face those smirking red lips.

"Well, hey." Faith said reasonably. "At least we know it didn't go to waste."


	3. Just neat!

Spike aligned his toes with the border between shadow and light. For a moment he hesitated, still a little afraid of it. Afraid there would be pain, burning… god, he knew what that felt like more than anyone, didn't he? He stepped out.

For a moment, his mind stood still. There was only his beating heart, on the inside, and the sunlight, touching him all over his outside. It was like tasting something you'd never had since childhood… like regaining a sense you'd thought lost. Somewhat overwhelmed, and alarmed by his urge to giggle like a schoolgirl, Spike sat down suddenly on the stairs. Everything was new. The flowers were open! At night, they were always closed. He couldn't believe he cared about that, but it turned out he did. There was so much warmth, more than he could ever remember feeling, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was like his mum… when he was little. It felt like when he'd snapped at her (it had happened, once or twice) as a rash young thing, only to have her pick him up again and hold him close… back in her good graces.

He squinted, looking up in the sky, then looked too closely at the sun and got his eyes all burnt-feeling. He swore mentally. Maybe he wasn't exactly back in the good graces, but he was close enough. Absorbed in thought, he forgot to breathe for a moment.

What was that tight pain?

Oh yeah. He started it up again. He'd have to watch that.

Someone was behind him. He'd only just noticed; human hearing and sense of smell were unfortunately dull. He turned; Illyria.

"Oh," he cleared his throat. "Hey there." She/He/It stared at him. "So…" he looked in his/her/its eyes, slightly aback. "You won then, I take it?"

"The half-breed's son joined us, and the warrior woman." Illyria explained. Then her/his/it's eyes narrowed. "She has a bond with… Angel." He followed Illyria's glance back inside the hotel, suddenly terrified that Buffy had been here the whole time and he hadn't known. He was relieved to see Angel with Faith, looking rather chummy.


	4. Angel's Stunning Realization

"He's alive now."

"Yeah." Faith was matter-of-fact.

"He can go back to Buffy."

"You're really still that nutso over Buffy?"

This gave Angel pause. "I guess… not. I know what Andrew said, and I know I was the one to end it…"

"But that was that whole I'm-strong-because-I-have-to-be thing?" he started to nod, but she continued. "Or at least, the I'm-denying-myself-pleasure-because-my-angstiness-demands-it thing?"

He turned to her, somewhat offended, and she put up her hands conciliatorily. "Hey, I just calls 'em like I sees 'em, boss. I just…" she sighed at his stern expression. "You helped me get my shit together; I just don't think your life has to suck as much as you think it does. I mean, the coming-storm, well, _came_ already, right? So why not find one of those things—" She frowned. "Shit, Willow told me what they were called… Nora demons?"

Insight flooded Angel's mind. In response to this revelation, he raised his eyebrows.

Nodding slowly, "Mohra. Yeah, I," sharp exhalation. "I guess I can do that now. I saved the world, right? And I didn't even get what I was supposed to…"

Faith was nodding along with him, a smile spreading across her face as he caught on. "There ya go, Ange. We'll have you walking on sunshine in no time. And hey," she sort of didn't want to say it, but she had to. "You could even make a bid for your fair lady's hand, and that shit."

He met her eyes, startled. "Yeah, I suppose I could. But maybe," he paused. "Andrew was right, wasn't he? I ended it. It was done."

"So… guess you're single, huh?" It came out a bit more quickly than Faith would've liked. He hesitated, then nodded.

"In that case," Faith's expression was carefully neutral. "You wanna go for coffee sometime?"

He frowned, slow to catch her meaning. Then he blinked, surprised.

"I mean, you know, if it's too soon or whatever, you still with werewolf-lady, then—" She trailed off at his amused expression.

"After I finish my quest to kidnap a demon and mix its blood with mine, thus regaining my mortality," he was smiling slightly at her discomfort, "I've really got nothing but time."

She exhaled. "Jesus Ange," she muttered, "don't do that."


	5. Slain

Buffy woke frowning from troubled dreams. She looked over the chasm between the pillows at the back of his head. He was… gorgeous. I mean, _wow_. His body was perfect. His face looked like it had been carved out of marble, and those lips…

Yeah, it annoyed her a little.

She quietly pulled the sheets aside, got up, and walked to the bathroom. Her face in the mirror looked the worst she'd ever seen it. She started to fix her hair automatically, then stopped. Vindictively, she began to mess it up again. Angrily, she smeared off the remains of her makeup. She looked at palms, greasy with charcoal mascara. Back to her reflection, cheeks a mess of black. Defeated, she sat on the lid of the toilet.

What the hell am I doing?

Andrew told her she was moving on when he found her depressed about it. She appreciated that, but she couldn't really believe it was true. This didn't feel like moving on. This felt like… Parker. She made a face. God, _there_ was a lesson she'd thought she'd learned. Apparently not.

Not that The Immortal was like Parker. He stayed with her; he was willing to stay with her for as long as she would have him. He was kind, compassionate, tender, and very very sexy. The other night, he'd mentioned in passing his "familiarity" with Darla and Drusilla, and made it seem like not such a big thing.

Of course, Buffy had still wanted to throw up.

She hadn't shown any sign of her repugnance, though. She'd smiled, and laughed about how silly it all was, what a small world, and he'd smiled that muscle-weakening smile and poor-sad-baby'd her and she'd snuggled deep into him and desperately pretended she felt safe and happy.

She chuckled quietly at herself. This wasn't Parker-stupid, this was soulless-Spike-stupid. This was like repeat-domestic-violence-victim stupid. If there was one thing being a slayer was about, it was not having to put up with crap like this.

His arm fell across her as she slid back into bed. Her pillow was damp. She realized she'd been crying silently, and blinked a few times. Her jaw clenched, and she stared unseeingly straight ahead into darkness.

"God, Spike," the phrase that had become her mantra slipped once again into her head, repeating over and over again. "I miss you. I miss you."


	6. Bewildering Graciousness

"She missed me, eh?"

"Yeah. She got here right after you dusted. We told her you'd been with us, and she was… well, surprised to say the least. She thinks you should tell Buffy you're back, especially now that you're, you know, back for good."

"It's very sweet of her to give her advice." Spike commented defensively.

Angel growled. "Watch it, Spike."

Spike raised his eyebrows. "Ooh, a new protectiveness. What oh what could this mean?"

"Spike!" Angel reigned in his temper with enormous effort. "I'm trying to be mature. Shut up."

Honestly puzzled, Spike shut his mouth. Angel paced in the shade, clearly wishing he could step out into the sunlight and give Spike what-for. Spike grinned to himself at the thought. Angel's impotent rage. At least the poof had never had to deal with a sodded government chip in his brain. Spike snorted. Oops – his respectful silence hadn't lasted long, had it?

"Spike," Angel's tone was warning.

"Right, shutting up." Spike was willing to hear what Angel had to say. After all, he could always decide to ignore it later.

Angel took a deep breath. "I think you should go to her."

For a moment, Spike thought he was too stunned to speak. But then he found his voice. "What's that?"

"To Buffy. I think you should try to meet with Buffy."

"I knew you meant Buffy, you dolt."

Angel exhaled sharply in frustration. "I know Buffy. She loves… with her whole heart. I know she's supposed to be with The Immortal, but… she's got to be going through a lot. I want someone with her. And God help me, I'd rather it be you than," Angel winced, "him."

This was touching. Spike immediately suspected something. "Uh, yeah. And you've given her up because…?"

Angel was acting all resigned, but Spike had trouble buying it. "I was the one to put an end to it with Buffy. We agreed it wouldn't work. Your relationship ended with you being consumed in a mass of fire and being sent to Hell, thus saving the world." Angel paused, brow furrowed. "Actually, I think maybe that just happens to Buffy a lot. But what I mean is, we had a chance to get back together, talk it over, and come to an understanding. If nothing else, you two deserve that. Buffy deserves that."

"Well, color me convinced." Spike shot his mouth off, albeit a bit more cautiously than usual. Angel did sort of have a point. He really sounded like he believed himself.

"Spike," Angel gave him a steely glare. "I know why you don't want to. Harmony told me that flashy-exit story, and I realize it's a pile of crap. You're scared. You don't think she meant it, and you're afraid to find out." Angel shrugged, calculatingly nonchalant. "Personally, I think you're probably right. But if you're not," Angel went back to being Intense Mister Staredown, "if there's the slightest chance that she's hurting and you're making it worse… well, I'm not going to let you do that to her. If you really care about her, you'll know I'm right. And you'll do what has to be done."

This time Spike actually _was_ speechless. Angel gave him one last glare, and Spike nodded dumbly. Spike forgot to breathe again for a second as he watched Angel walk back into the lobby, past Faith (who flinched), and off into some dark corridor.

Spike turned to Illyria. "Did you see that!" he asked incredulously.

Illyria nodded logically. "Yes. I was present."

Spike exhaled in frustration himself, then got up to go back inside. On his way in, he passed Faith, still standing mutely, obviously hurt. He paused, feeling as though he owed Angel a little help with this, at least.

"Don't think too much of it," Spike attempted awkwardly. "He gets into snits sometimes. I mean, he's a right poncey—" Crap. Start over. "Okay, well, he's sort of a git, but he's… he's good and all. He likes you, really. I mean, he must." Disgusted, Spike decided that was quite enough of that. "So, uh… I need some cash. Angel won't mind that I borrowed some. Any idea where he keeps it?"


	7. Shorty 1

Cash in hand, and fake passport besides, Spike stood in line at the airport, feeling quite mortal and quite ridiculous. Rome. Had to get to Rome. Could even fly, now he was human and all.

Spike pushed the rising panic back down. He could worry on the plane.


End file.
